


blue mischief

by kittenscully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, POV Fox Mulder, Romance, Season/Series 07, Shower Sex, very late s7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27462031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenscully/pseuds/kittenscully
Summary: Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t find the words to reply before she’s sliding into the shower beside him. Nothing has ever struck him dumb in his life except for loving her, and the experience is still wonderfully unfamiliar.[in which Mulder, rhetorically, wants to marry her.]
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 11
Kudos: 137





	blue mischief

Motels are the same everywhere in the country. 

The same look to the rooms, the same unexplained smell from the vents. The same cigarette machine and ice machine, spitting out random clunks unprompted, like fidgeting kids. The same liminal feeling at night. 

Over the years, Mulder’s grown oddly fond of them.

Their bathrooms, on the other hand, are an entirely mixed bag. 

Some have shower walls thicker with grime than the first-year Oxford dormitories. Some have mold hidden in the corners under the sink, a nice little surprise for the unsuspecting razor-dropper. 

Some are almost eerily spotless, which always warrants extra investigation. 

Usually, Mulder tells himself he’s checking them out in order to warn Scully. Fielding the potential bio-hazardous situation ahead of time, so she doesn’t have to. 

He’s taken to reporting back like a soldier, tap-tapping on the adjoining door until he’s invited in and then standing at attention to tell her not to look too closely at the showerhead. 

In reality, he’s always the more squeamish out of the two of them, and Scully never seems even remotely alarmed. She humors him, though, accepts his warnings without much mocking. 

Since the turn of the century, she’s occasionally even lifted up on her toes and kissed him on the mouth after, a thank you with far more affection than he deserves. 

Or perhaps just a _hello, welcome home_ , given graciously at the sight of him on her doorstep, right before she pulls him inside by his tie. As if she’s been waiting for him at home like she might a husband. 

On this particular occasion, he’s found a collection of mold spots above the clouded glass shower door, and she, stripped down to a skirt and a black lace bra that he’s thrilled to recognize, informs him with only a small smirk that unless he has an allergy he hasn’t told his doctor about, limited exposure to three square inches of shower-ceiling mold will leave him unaffected. 

“As long as you don’t try to put it in your mouth,” she adds, glancing over her shoulder as she heads back towards her bed.

“Believe it or not, Scully, that’s not what I’m contemplating putting in my mouth right about now.”

She snorts, and there’s a small _snick_ as she unhooks her bra, too. 

“I’m sure you can understand my wariness of fungal entities, Scully,” he tells her, bracing his shoulder against her doorframe. 

Her back is to him, bare and pale, and she stretches one arm over her head, tugging on the wrist with her opposite hand. Uselessly, he wills her to turn, just a bit. 

He can imagine the resulting asymmetry of her tits, the newly-hardened nipple bobbing as she drops her arm back to her side, but seeing the real thing would be so much better. 

She _hmms_ , tilts her delicate little chin to the side as if she’s not sure what he’s referring to. She’s teasing him, of course, and he adores her immeasurably for it. 

“Ever since our near-digestive decomposition on that mountain, I’ve had the worst recurring nightmare of becoming shroom food,” he confesses mournfully. It’s been nearly a full year, and it’s melodramatic, but still true. He would never lie to her. “Giant fungal colonies, invading my apartment more unexpectedly than the Spanish Inquisition. Gallons of yellow goop. I haven’t eaten a portobello in months, Scully. And I love portobellos.”

“Mulder?” 

“Yeah?”

“You can use my shower.” She’s smirking now. 

He opens his mouth, about to protest, and is distracted by the clinking sound of her unzipping her skirt.

“There’s no fungal entities,” she informs him, still frustratingly facing away. “I checked.”

“Aren’t you using it?” He says, only a little miffed that his performative chivalry has been sidelined. 

“What’s your point?”

Mulder grins.

“Touche, Agent Scully.” 

He lingers in the doorway a bit longer, watching her wiggle her way out of the skirt and admiring her perky little ass, framed neatly by the simple cream-colored garter belt she wears in warm months and the tops of her stockings. 

“I’m not going to turn around,” Scully informs him as he finally approaches. “You stink, Mulder. I’m taking preventative measures.”

“Who says I want you to turn around? The view is top notch just like this.” 

“Get in the shower, Don Juan,” she orders, but he can hear her smiling, and it all feels so blissfully domestic that he can’t help but grin. “I’m giving you a five minute headstart.” 

Unable to resist, he gives her rear a smack – more a tap than anything, really – as he passes, chuckling when she gasps. 

He leaves his clothes laid over the sink, and discovers in short order that Scully’s bathroom, at least, is almost shockingly clean. 

The shower stall is just like the one in his room – only here, the ceiling above the sliding door is a clean, milky white. Even more surprising is how relatively spacious it seems once he steps inside, the newly unwrapped bar soap in his palm. 

Scully had, of course, been right. He does stink. 

He’d done some running earlier, having walked right into a confrontation with a potential suspect at the local police precinct. 

As it is, he uses the bar soap first, figuring there’s always a chance she’ll end up washing his hair once she joins him like she has a few times before, even though he’s relatively sure that was more of a soothing, comforting gesture than a new habit. 

After all, she is very, very short, and his hair isn’t exactly easily reachable.

It’s been a little longer than five minutes, he thinks, when he finally hears the bathroom door swing open and Scully’s bare feet on the tile.

He’s rinsing out the motel shampoo when she grips the door handle, pulls it aside just enough to reveal her nakedness. Peers at him with blue mischief in her eyes.

“Room in this one for two?” 

Her voice is high and flirtatious, and Mulder wants to kiss her, would do it if she was just a little nearer. Her nipples perk up at him, stridently standing at attention, and he has the strange urge to salute in gratitude, despite relative certainty that gratitude is not the emotion salutes are meant to convey. 

_In respect_ , he corrects himself. He would salute her perfect, rosebud nipples in respect, keep his eyes lowered until she set him at ease, and then pluck at them like petals, bruise them with his teeth. 

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t find the words to reply before she’s sliding into the shower beside him. Nothing has ever struck him dumb in his life except for loving her, and the experience is still wonderfully unfamiliar.

He wants to marry her, someday. He would marry her today, if he could. Just to make it final, this unarguable, unalienable bond that they have. 

Just to be able to call her his wife out loud, even though he’s been thinking it with increasing frequency every day. 

“We’ll make do,” he says, a delayed response, and Scully smirks up at him, all tenderness, no malice. 

He has to dodge the impulse to reach for her, palm her tits and her narrow waist, not wanting to be presumptuous. There’s always a chance she just wants to get clean. 

They’ve done shower sex, of course, every which way, lingering under the spray on countless mornings like fish out of water. There’s an undeniable appeal to a bathroom door half-open like an invitation, her lithe body slick and steaming in wait, the tight moans bouncing off the tile as he rubs her sweet little cunt. 

As he’s discovered, he can’t help following her. The frustrating slip and slide of working out positions had never been worth it until Scully, shaking with giggles and flushed pink as a girl, was the reward. 

She steps under the shower head, her hair soaked through as quickly as his was. There’s rivulets of water coursing down her bare chest, down her hips, wetting the proud red curls between her thighs. 

Mulder knows even before it happens that she’ll catch him looking, has to remind himself that he’s allowed to look now, encouraged, even. 

Once, she’d tempted him to her bath like a siren, covered them both with steam and bubbles. Kissed him stupid, laying on his chest, only to pull herself up on the edge of the tub and spread her legs wide as the sea as soon as he tried to touch her. Her foot pinning his hand, she’d played with herself as he watched, slow and languid, letting him lick the salty, syrupy richness off of her fingers every now and again. 

When he’d tried to pull her back down into his lap, she’d protested, citing the precise pH balance of the external female sex organ, the dangers of infection or irritation that could ensue from the introduction of a scented soap or, god forbid, bubble bath. Rising up out of the water like the creature from the black lagoon, he’d scooped her off the edge, leaned her against the wall, and set her on his cock. 

The sharp, yelping gasp she’d let out as gravity forced her all the way down has featured in every one of his fantasies since, just like the immediate glazing over of her eyes once he’d started thrusting. 

“Your shampoo isn’t in here yet,” he tells the pretty meeting of her thighs, attempting silently to talk his already half-hard dick out of stiffening further before he knows her intentions. 

“My eyes aren’t down there,” she replies, her voice light with amusement. 

Mulder looks back up, and is confronted with the full force of her smile, the corners of her eyes gently creased with affection, her determined little chin pointed up at him. He can’t help it, leans down carefully to kiss her right there, two fingers’ width below her lower lip. 

“Mulder,” she giggles. 

“Your conditioner isn’t in here either,” he adds, continuing his train of thought. “And I didn’t bring in the hotel bottle.”

“That’s a problem for later,” she assures him. Her fingers wreath his chest, drawing little patterns around his nipples. 

“Oh?” 

All he needs is confirmation. Scully shakes her head, rakes her nails gently through the hair on his chest and braces her palms on his shoulders as she lifts onto her tiptoes. Even at her fullest height, she’s barely tall enough to reach his neck, but she gets her plump little mouth as close to his ear as she can. He palms her lower back.

“The shower can wait,” she husks, pushes her stomach closer against his erection. “I’ve got more _pressing_ things to deal with.”

And that’s it, he’s gone. 

She stretches against him, feline and fanciful, her lips pressing teasingly to his collarbone. There is no doubt in his mind that she’s thoroughly pleased with herself, with the hardness of him against her abdomen. 

Mulder almost calls her _baby_ , then decides to hold off a little longer, wait until she’s cock-drunk and sappy. 

Instead, he cups the back of her head, so much smaller than his own. Tugs on her hair and takes her mouth in a kiss, collects impressions of her in the back of his mind. The little purrs she lets out as he cups her ass, the scratching of her nails over his chest, the scent of her, faded spicy perfume and sweat and a hint of arousal.

And sure, he obsesses over things, always has. Explores every detail, glorifies and dramatizes, shakes the object of obsession for new material like a prospector panning for gold. 

But she is by far the greatest thing he’s ever fixated on, and he has no doubt that she deserves every bit of delirious, hyper-focused attention that he can give. 

He wants to bury his face in her skin, breathe her in like freshly washed sheets. He wants to make her laugh until she cries. He wants to lift her and fold her up inside his body. He wants to fuck her with his fingers, his tongue, until she passes out from the pleasure. He wants to marry her. He wants to indulge in her, tempt her into sin that would make her mother blush. 

As if she needs to be tempted.

“Baby,” he tells her, unable to resist. 

“Mulder,” she says, as if to chastise him, but she’s smiling, and there’s nothing sexier in the world. 

“Baby,” he insists. Scully folds her hand around his cock, and his vision blurs. 

As her palm slips across his shaft, still grinning at him cheekily, he knows he’s mooning at her, lovestruck and powerless. 

“Mulder,” she whispers, like she’s about to share the juiciest secret, up on her toes to plant a plush kiss on his mouth. 

He hums inquisitively, leans down and gathers her close, and she nudges her nose against his, affectionate. Waits until he opens his eyes and meets hers, soft as the sky. 

“I love you,” she confides, sweetly. 

Far too innocently, considering the way her fist is tightening around his dick. Her cheeks are defiantly pink, as if she’s deliberately breaking the rules, and he bows his head to kiss them. 

He loves her too.

Another moment passes, her smile and the gentle pulse of her fingers around him. The sucking in of his stomach in response. He wonders what exactly she’s planning.

Then, she drops. 

“Scully,” he gasps. In front of him, on her knees. 

Water is coursing through her hair, rivulets across her forehead, crystalline droplets on her eyelashes. On her lips, parted and pretty, pooling just inside her mouth. 

Mulder is so hard he can feel his heartbeat there, right in the palm of her hand.

Giving him one more squeeze, she leans in, pressing wet lips to the side of his cock. Her other hand rests on the front of his hip, nudging him back until he leans against the wall, the cold tile a shock against his fevered skin. 

At his gasp, she croons a little, glances up with doe eyes. Against his oversensitive skin, she smiles, and then turns her head and cuddles the length of him against her cheek. Rubs against it like a cat.

“Your knees,” he manages, as if the sight of her glistening with water and snuggled up to his dick isn’t the best fantasy fodder he’s ever witnessed in his life. 

He lays his palms against the wall, fingertips pressing as if he can grab onto it, hoping that the coolness will ground him, keep him from blowing too soon.

“Mmm,” Scully hums, and her eyelashes flutter against him. “I think I’ll manage.”

He wants to protest again, thinking of the hard floor, but then her tongue is dragging slowly from base to tip, and the words die in his throat, replaced by a groan.

There should be something embarrassing or diminishing about it, the way that she regards him. The affection in her eyes as she wraps her plush lips around his crown and sucks him in, the endeared pouting of her mouth around him when his breath hitches.

But he’s seen her apprehensive as he fits himself inside of her, and he’s seen her eyes well with tears when he bottoms out. He’s seen her sit perfectly still atop him, felt her cunt ripple and adjust as she whimpers with pleasure. He’s seen her tip over into catatonia when he finds that ecstasy-inducing position, kneeling and laying her flat on her back against his folded legs, and palming her abdomen to feel the press of his own cock through layers of skin and muscle.

And it turns out that seeing her almost amused at the twitching of his hips, sipping at his dick and sweet on him through the steam, is as good as all of those or better.

What that says about him, Mulder doesn’t know. Maybe it’s just that he loves her. 

She doesn’t take him any deeper, not then. Backs off instead, taking short licks across the sensitive ridge of him she works her hand up and down the rest, making soft sounds of satisfaction all the while.

When she sticks out her tongue flat and lays the head of his dick against it, it takes all of his self control not to grab her hair and thrust. 

There’s a smile hinting at the corners of her pretty mouth, and she looks right up at him, blinking rapidly to keep the water out of her eyes as little streams track their way down her face, across her lips. 

“Fuck,” he grits out, scrapes his nails against the tile. “Scully, ‘m not gonna last long if you keep teasing.”

As if in response, her jaw drops lower. She leans in, slowly sliding him into her mouth, keeping her gaze on his face the whole time. 

And the muscle of her tongue moves and ripples as she stretches to accommodate him, and the roof of her mouth is hot and hard, and he can’t keep staring at her, too done in from the sensations to keep his eyes open.

He hears it though, the wet, choked noise, when he hits the back of her throat.

Just as he expects her to withdraw, she breathes in, steady through her nose, and takes him deeper, exquisitely tight and slick. 

“Oh my god,” he gasps, fist pounding against the wall. “Oh my _god_ , Scully, _Christ_ –”

In response, she hums.

The vibrations are too much, and Mulder’s hands fly out, palming the back of her head desperately just as her lips meet her fist at the base of his dick. 

He’s got just enough mental capacity to remember not to hold her down, even though every instinct is telling him to do just that, keep her swallowing and rippling around him until she can’t take anymore. 

If Scully wanted that, he reasons wildly, she’d have asked, like she has before.

So he keeps his hands slack, cradling her skull gently. Water beating down on his knuckles, cock throbbing in her throat. 

“Fuck, Scully,” he manages. Glances down just in time to see her look up at him, glossy-eyed. 

And then, she’s moving back, slipping him out again until it’s just her lips, brushing against the tip. 

“Mulder,” she replies expectantly, voice husky and ruined, fist pumping his length steadily as she catches her breath. 

Against his palms, her hair is smooth and soaked through, her head leaned back into his touch just a little, as if she’s appreciating the contact. He still isn’t used to this part, the sweetness, the way the corners of her eyes crinkle at the sight of him.

Maybe he’s got nearly forty years of life under his belt, but he’d never known what it felt like to be fucked and loved simultaneously until the turn of the century.

Until her. 

“Show-off,” he teases, finally, and his voice is nearly as husky as hers. 

He wants to spend the rest of his life with her.

Cheeky as ever, Scully gives him a one-shouldered shrug. She’s just far enough away that he can see her breasts without shifting his neck, the star chart of water droplets across her chest and the tight peaks of her nipples. 

The sight makes the arousal bubble in his gut, and for a moment he almost wishes that she’d jack him off like this the rest of the way, so he can keep staring. 

Or, instead, that she’d let him do the work, and link her hands behind her back instead. Blink up at him, arching to present those pretty tits, and let him come all over them. 

And then, she leans forwards to suck him back in, and the fantasy vanishes as quickly as it’d come. Another time.

“God, that’s it, that’s – fuck, Scully, yes.” The words come out unbidden, and he can feel her smile.

She’s working him up now, steady pulses of her mouth around the head of his dick sending sparks into the outskirts of his vision. Still humming every so often, appreciative and low, throaty moans vibrating occasionally against him as if she’s enjoying this even more than he is.

If she rides him like a competitor, jerks him like she’s experimenting, and takes it from behind like she wants to be praised, then she sucks him off like she’s flirting. 

Sweet and coy, mischievous and adorable. Flushed cheeks and a pretty smile, wide-eyed and smitten with his dick. 

How could he ever want anything but her, in all her multi-faceted, quasi-saintly complexity, ever again?

Head bobbing slightly, Scully coaxes groans out of him like pulling taffy, kneads at his hip just to feel the heat of his skin, the jump of his muscle as he tries to stay still for her. 

Behind him, the tile has started to turn warm from his continued contact. Low in his stomach, the rolling pleasure is nearing a dangerous point. He needs more, though, and she knows it as well as he does. 

Just when he’s about ready to beg, she backs off again, eyes him curiously.

“Why’d you – is something wrong?” He gasps, thighs trembling as he pets her head. 

“No,” she shakes her head. Her fist, slack and wet, moves up and down his length. “Just thinking.”

“Thinking.”

“Mm-hm.”

He suppresses a curse, knocks his head back against the wall. He’d been so close, and now the pressure is easing up again, the steady slide of her hand doing little to keep him on the precipice. 

“Thinking ‘bout what?”

“About whether to keep going like this, so I can see you,” she starts, glancing at the wall thoughtfully. “Or whether to let you fuck my throat.”

At that, Mulder swears his stomach drops all the way down into his pelvis, his hips jerking a little under her touch. She says it so matter-of-factly, as if debating whether to have decaf or regular, and the tone of her voice makes him even hotter.

“Do I get a say in that?” He manages to ask, and she meets his eyes.

“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’, and he barely processes the corner of her mouth tugging up in a slight smile.

“Good – _fuck_. Good to know.”

As he watches her, weakened and throbbing in her loose fist, she stretches out her neck, tilting her head first to one side and then the other as water cascades down her face. Finally, she gives a nod.

“Made up your mind?” He croaks. “Or should I give you another minute?”

“Mulder?” She blinks up at him, the picture of feigned innocence. 

“Yeah?”

“Shut up before I change it again.”

He’s about to protest, but then Scully opens her mouth, sticking her tongue out flat once again, and laying the head of his cock atop it. 

Both hands now resting on his hips, she stares up at him expectantly.

“You want me to…”

She raises her eyebrows, as if to say _yes, obviously._

“ _Fuck_.” Mulder sucks in steamy air, combs his fingers through the short, wet strands of her hair. “Fuck, okay. Okay.”

Palming the back of her skull, he pulls her in, out of the spray, struggling to keep it slow as the slick heat of her mouth engulfs him. The back of her throat jumps, and she whines, squeezes at his hips encouragingly. 

Holding her in place now, as he’d wanted to do earlier, he rocks forwards, pushing the rest of the way in with a grunt. 

It’s so much, too much, the perfect tightness, the living, breathing muscle of her on all sides. Teeth barely covered with curled lips at the base of his cock, a reminder of how easily she could regain every bit of the power. Breath ceased, eyes watering, a reminder of the trust implicit in giving him control of her like this.

Her jaw goes slack, throat relaxing, and he’s peripherally aware of the gentle rubbing of her thumbs along his skin, as if reassuring him that this is good, this is okay. 

That she loves him back. 

Mulder stays, buried in her to the hilt, wracking his brain for precise sensation memories of what it feels like to fuck her face in preparation, until her hands squeeze tight around his hips in a wordless request for air. 

Pulling out again, enough to let her breathe, he waits for the second squeeze of his hips. Laid against her tongue, he suddenly becomes aware of the thick tang of her arousal in the air. 

It makes his head spin. Not the scent itself, even though he loves it – that’s familiar enough by now. No, it’s the fact that she’s wet enough to be noticeable, just from sucking his dick. 

They’re birds of a feather, she and him. He adores her.

“Scully,” he says, and she looks up at him. “I can – fuck. I can smell you.”

Her cheeks go pink, and he’s absolutely awed that this, of all things, is what makes her bashful. 

Finally, she squeezes, and he gathers handfuls of her hair in his fists and starts a rhythm, thrusting steadily into the tightness of her throat. 

And he won’t last for more than a minute or so, not like this. 

Especially not when Scully shifts her position a little, one hand leaving his hip, lashes fluttering. He can’t quite see, but when she moans thickly around his dick, he knows that it must’ve found its way between her legs.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, the pet name slipping out without a second thought. “That’s right, touch yourself for me.”

He likely can’t hold out long enough for her to make herself come, he knows that. From the way she’s staring up at him in wait, drool leaking down to his balls, he’s sure that she knows too.

“Gonna make you come so hard, baby,” he gasps. “Promise, baby, I’m gonna make you scream for me. Make you feel so good.”

In response, she moans again, swallows around the width of him as he pushes past the back of her mouth. 

Mulder can hear all of it, the frantic, slick noises between her thighs, the slick noises in her throat. The sound of her hums, her pleasured little groans. The whimper she makes when he holds her down on his cock for a moment longer than she’d expected. 

He staves off his climax the best he can, not wanting the feeling to end, even as his thrusts start to grow irregular and jerky. He knows he’s babbling, curses and pet names and secrets, all of it fucked into her skull as he cradles it in his hands.

When she jerks and shudders unexpectedly against him, whining desperately, it takes him a long, stunned moment to realize that she’s coming, already. 

It’s the sight of her going limp, palm sliding down to rest on his thigh, eyes glazed over and smitten, that pushes him over the edge and sends him careening into space.

He pulls back as he starts to come, giving her space to breathe, moving one hand from her hair to stroke himself through his orgasm.

Scully nuzzles into the remaining hand, pretty little mouth closing around the oversensitive head of his dick to suck the last of him into her mouth with a long hum. 

As she withdraws, snuggling against his palm and wiping drool off her chin, he swears he can hear his own heartbeat, frame going soft against the wall behind him. 

“Scully,” he gasps, and she blinks up at him.

Dazed with adoration and barely capable of coherent thought, all he can grasp at is the idea that’s been floating around in his head all day, all week, all month. 

“Marry me.”

It’s just that he can’t believe that she hasn’t already, had been sure from the day he met her that she’d quickly make an honest man out of him if given the chance. 

As she stands, her hands slide up his abdomen, over his heaving chest. And she’s smiling, flushed all the way down to her stomach with self-satisfied pleasure, with the evidence of her own climax.

“I bet you say that to all the girls who swallow,” she teases. 

Oh, how he loves her.

He shakes his head and kisses her full on the mouth as she rubs her nipples against his ribs, the lingering bitterness on her tongue making him groan. 

“Marry me,” he repeats.

Scully’s eyes are bright as a beacon as she blinks water off of her lashes. 

He knows he’s said it before, always to have her laugh it off, and with good reason – it had been a joke, every time. 

Not the mocking kind, but the obvious kind. What an absurd thing to ask the woman who was already, in every way that mattered, his wife. 

Even now, he half expects her to swat his chest affectionately, tell him _I can’t marry you twice, Mulder._

It feels naive to ask her to take him seriously now. But they have months of shameless, bold-faced love in their past, and Mulder can’t even look at her, much less be intimate with her, without wanting to keep her forever.

He’s started to believe he might even deserve to.

And so he pulls her into his arms, one hand under her rear, one flat against her back. Ducks down to bury his nose in the side of her face, nudge away the crescent moon of damp hair plastered to her temple. Kisses her at the corner of her jaw, at the pointed cartilage right in front of the hollow of her ear. 

“I mean it,” he murmurs, feels her slender arms sneak around his waist. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” she whispers, and he can hear her smile, mischievous. She rocks him, just a little, hides her face in the front of his chest. “Keep asking.”

**Author's Note:**

> This one is based partially off of a prompt asking for shower sex with mentions of cold tile, and partially off of [leiascully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/works) urging me to write a blowjob months ago. Please let me know what you think via comments/asks/messages/etc. either here or on my tumblr @kittenscully!


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